


Carpe Noctem

by Fyre



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his earlier years as a vampire, William the Bloody met one of the older vampire clans in Europe at a gathering. The friendship that started with a poem in a library lasted across decades and even death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Aught of Mortal Birth

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no shame in admitting this is purely written for my own squee. I loved BtVS. I love Tanz der Vampire. I wrote this around 7 years ago, and only now have decided to back it up over here. I'm planning on posting a chapter per day, because otherwise, it would be a massive influx. Alas, that it was never wholly finished to the grand conclusion (that would have been about 50 more chapters), but I do quite like where it stopped.

Despite the early hour, the ball appeared to be a success.

Hundreds of guests from half a dozen generations were gathered in the grandiose ballroom of the Graf von Krolock’s castle, dancing and laughing.

Admittedly, some of the guests were more rustic, their funereal garb dispersing dust across the polished floors, but for one’s reputation, one had to tolerate those who had lesser manners but great esteem nonetheless.

And, how delightful, the embodiment of those characteristics had just swaggered into the ballroom.

Of course, he had his lady with him and the second was accompanied by...

“Who is that?” He felt his son move closer behind him. Ah, Herbert would be the first to notice the new arrivals and their unexpected addition.

“I trust you do not mean Angelus,” he replied, smiling slightly at the expression that crossed his son’s face. He gazed at the newest visitor, unfamiliar and drinking in the surroundings with wide-eyes. “My, this is... interesting.”

“Oh? You can see who he is, then?” Sometimes, Herbert could be so refreshingly excitable and predictable. “So...?”

Dark eyes gleamed. “More than simply a pretty face, Herbert,” he murmured, then descended the staircase with a measured tread, his cloak whispering behind him.

At once, there was a reverential silence, the crowd parting before him to allow him to greet these newest arrivals. It was not done out of a mutual liking, but as a sign of respect towards the Order of Aurelius.

In truth, he had never met any vampires with an exaggerated sense of self-worth as grand as those of that bloodline, but it seemed fitting to be... associated with them, mutually beneficial, although he would rather shear off his own hand than spend time readily with Angelus.

Loosing her arm from her pet’s, the eldest of the quartet moved forward with a broad smile, extending her hands to him. “Your Excellency,” she murmured, sinking into a well-practised curtsey, her deep purple gown spreading around her.

“Darla,” he acknowledged, clasping her fingertips lightly and inclining his head. “It has been some time since you have graced our halls.”

And of the reason, there was no doubt. He could see Angelus scowling already. Such a charming creature. It seemed, however, that his previous lesson in manners had taken, because this time, he had restraint enough to stay behind his Sire and hold his tongue until spoken to.

“Had to show a fallen angel the best places to dance and play,” the dreamy voice drifted from Darla’s right, and von Krolock turned his most charming smile to the third - and until now - the youngest member of the group.

“You flatter, Drusilla,” he said, claiming her slender hands and lifting it to kiss her knuckles softly. “It is a mere trifle, this ball.”

Grey-blue eyes gazed at him, deep red lips curling in a knowing smile. “Bad boy, telling such fibs,” she cooed.

“As always,” von Krolock gazed at her fondly. “You see to the truth of the matter.”

“Hide and seek and there it will be.” Drusilla tilted her head back with a quiet, contented sigh.

“And I see you have brought a new guest, my dear.” Releasing her hands, he glanced to her right, to the youngest vampire in the group. He met ice-blue eyes that were staring with no small measure of bewilderment, a faint smile touching his lips.

Pulling the tawny-haired youth forward, Drusilla beamed in delight. “I found the sweetest, bravest knight in all the land,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Willy, this is the one I told you about.”

The boy was staring at him with wide, reverent eyes and the Graf could barely mask the smile that crept upon his lips.

“William, I trust?” von Krolock murmured.

“Yes, Sir.” The bow the boy executed was flawless, one hand at the base of his back, the other pressed flat against his stomach. Dark golden curls fell loose from the black velvet ribbon at the nape of his neck, skimming his cheekbones. “I’m honoured to meet you.”

Behind Darla, there was a derisive but muffled snort which was stifled in the face of an ice-cold glance from von Krolock. Clearly, his merciless lessons had been quite sufficient to pacify the rabid beast for a time.

However, it appeared that Angelus had already extended his influence. The young William’s shoulders had tightened and he had frozen mid-bow. Even if he had not looked, von Krolock knew he would have felt the waves of tension.

Extending one hand, the Graf lifted the boy’s chin and those brilliant blue eyes met his fearlessly, though not without awe and respect. Very young, barely half a dozen months, if his estimate was right.

“You are welcome to my home,” von Krolock murmured, his voice mellifluous and warm. On the edge of his senses, he could feel the bewilderment and annoyance radiating from the member of this family that he had yet to fully acknowledge.

However, another presence overlapped with that of Angelus, this one agitated and giddy beyond reckoning for utterly different reasons. Herbert’s nervous energy was tugging at his mind almost as insistently as four-year-old Herbert would have tugged at his sleeve.

Drawing aside, he motioned his son forward. “Herbert, this is William, Sired by Drusilla,” he said softly, noting the surprise that registered on the youngest vampire’s face, quickly masked. “William, my son, Herbert.”

Sweeping into a low bow, his cloak flung dramatically behind him, Herbert caught the young vampire’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. William looked too startled to draw back.

“Enchanté, William,” Herbert purred, his accented French drawing more than a couple of wistful sighs.

“Er... right...” William’s confusion was charming, his head tilted to one side, blue eyes wide. Still, his hand lay lightly in Herbert’s, cradled by his son’s fingers.

Straightening and moving forward in one smooth motion, until he was practically touching William’s slim body, William’s hand clasped between their chests, Herbert smiled a slow, feline smile.

“Welcome,” he murmured, his grey eyes holding those startled blue ones. “It has been some time since we have had such charming company.”

“Don’t I even get a look in here?”

Both Herbert and the young William tensed at the thickly-accented voice that spoke so coarsely from behind Darla. Hastily, William pulled his hand from Herbert’s and backed away a step, folding his arms over his narrow chest.

Turning slightly, Herbert’s brows arched elegantly. “I supposed you would have learned some manners since your last visit, Angelus,” he said dryly. “Alas, that all our hopes have been in vain.”

The low, bestial growl that rumbled through the dark-haired vampire’s chest was echoed by the quietest of warning snarls from von Krolock, who stepped between his son and the Irish vampire.

“The night is young, Angelus, and I am in good spirits,” he said quietly, gazing down at Angelus coolly. “Do not give me cause to lose my temper.”

Restraining himself clearly took Angelus a great deal of effort, aided only when Darla laid a cautioning hand on her pet’s arm, her pale eyes flashing as fiercely as von Krolock suspected his own were.

“He will be sure to behave himself, your Excellency,” she said sweetly. The Graf was amused to notice that Angelus was wincing, Darla’s grip on his hand leaving her knuckles white and his fingers bruised. “I will see to it.”

With an approving nod, von Krolock let his eyes drift to young William, who was feigning indifference to Herbert’s rapt gaze. His stance spoke of taut defensiveness, but beyond his eyes, there was something else, something intriguing.

Turning away with a sweeping swirl of his cloak, von Krolock motioned for his son to join him. Both of them returned to the staircase, pausing at his favoured spot on the first landing.

“An interesting boy,” he murmured, when they were once more drowned out by the music and chatter.

“Exceptionally handsome,” Herbert agreed, his eyes on the floor below them. His father had no doubts where his attention was focussed. “I felt he was not entirely himself around that lumbering brute.”

“Ill-at-ease,” von Krolock agreed mildly, laying an arm around his son’s shoulders, drawing him nearer and bringing his lips conspiratorially closer to Herbert’s ear. “This is something new, Herbert. Some... hidden betrayal.”

“The idiot?” Grey eyes dragged from the dancing guests, and von Krolock nodded slowly. “He is not afraid of him, though...” Herbert frowned briefly. “Intimidated, perhaps, but by age and experience. I do not doubt he could surpass Angelus by wit alone.”

Von Krolock chuckled softly as Herbert stepped around him, leaning back against the curved railing, one arm resting casually on the carved stone. “Sometimes, I forget how much attention you pay,” he murmured.

Herbert cast a sunny smile at him. “You should remember such pretty things are my weakness, father,” he said, eyes dancing. His eyes slid sideways to the young vampire who was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, watching. “You saw the way he bowed, the respect he accords your station.”

“Certainly not nobility.“ Von Krolock smoothed his kerchief between his fingers, his gaze roaming the hall, casually passing over the boy on occasion. “And far brighter than he feigns.”

“With Angelus as companion, would you blame him?” His son was chuckling and nodded an acknowledgement to a striking young male who had started attending the balls two decades earlier. “Better to hide your wisdom than to suffer for it.”

Von Krolock politely bowed his head towards a comely female escorted by a younger vampire, one who would clearly be losing his companion to the Graf if the she-vampire had any say in the matter. “Your intention?”

“Need you even ask?”

A steel-grey brow arched. “And already, I have lost count of possible reasons...”

Herbert lifted his eyes innocently towards the ceiling. “My chief concern was that such a pretty little creature would be molested by some unscrupulous character,” he said with a woeful sigh. “Our guests are so wretchedly rude sometimes.”

It took a great deal of restraint to stop himself from laughing aloud, but the Graf masked it by lifting his kerchief to his lips. “And where would this act of virtuous protection take place?” he asked.

Grey eyes examined the contours of the ceiling. “I thought he might be interested in the finer things...”

Von Krolock sighed, but slowly nodded. “If you must...”

“I may need your aid,” Herbert added, drawing his gaze back down to his father. “I seem to have a problem in the form of a rather hulking Irish fool. I suspect he would keep William with him simply to offend.”

Von Krolock glanced at him and smiled faintly. “My dear boy, I will gladly help,” he said, dark eyes gleaming. “Though any diversion must be your own, as I cannot and will not intercede openly.”

Pushing himself upright, Herbert caught his father’s hand and kissed his knuckles with a happy sound. “You are a kind and generous man, father,” he said with such earnestness that his father could not hide the warm smile.

“And you are a wicked, lecherous wretch,” the Graf said, lifting his son’s chin with his free hand. He leaned forward and kissed Herbert’s brow fondly. “But I find I love you all the same.”

Herbert drew back and squeezed his father’s fingers. “And I promise there will be no stains or upturned furniture this time.” He smiled broadly, then slanted a look down at the ball room, lips twitching. “You know, I think we have their attention...”

For every face in the ballroom was watching.

Von Krolock stroked his son’s cheek fondly. “I see what you mean about a host of unscrupulous characters,” he murmured. “I shall see he reaches you intact.”

Herbert laughed as his hand was released. “Thank you, father,” he said, beaming.

Arching a brow, von Krolock shook his head. “If I did not, I would never hear the end of it,” he said, then started down the staircase to mingle with his guests.

Behind him, he heard Herbert’s laughter.

_____________________________

 

Even if he had not made it apparent, and even if it seemed he was watching all the guests with equal attentiveness, Herbert’s gaze kept wandering back to that new and charming little ruffian.

Unlike his Sire and the two elder vampires, young William haunted the sidelines of the ballroom, arms wrapped around his chest, watching the dancers with an odd, intense hunger, as if he was watching a world he could not quite touch, as much as he might wish to.

Leaning against the decorative statuary at the bottom of the banister, Herbert let his gaze drift onwards. He spotted his father amid the whirling dancers, unmissable, unmistakeable, but that was not his target of choice, not at this moment.

Pushing himself upright, the son of the Graf snared a partner, a young, charming boy with laughing eyes and wandering hands, who would have been a delightful diversion in himself, but Herbert’s focus was unshakeable and despite granting the boy a fond kiss, he caught a different partner.

Closer and closer he moved, through the pattern of the dance, moving with a deft stealth and lightness of step that would have impressed the most cunning of hunters.

His intended target was oblivious until the moment when Herbert whirled around into Darla’s place, one hand upon Angelus’ shoulder, the other clasping Angelus’ own fingers, his smile guileless and utterly charming. He heard Darla’s exclamation, but didn’t look around when it was punctuated by a less-irate and more… intrigued sound.

Cause and effect, he observed to himself with an amused smile. He had whispered to Giorgio, and Giorgio, predictable creature that he was, had reacted.

One difficulty dealt with.

Drusilla certainly didn’t come into the equation, dazzled and dizzied by the music and magic his father was kindly weaving in the air.

That left one more, which was staring at him and, surprisingly, was too startled to realise that Herbert was leading him in the rapid steps of the dance. From the middle of the dance-floor, Herbert steered him easily, beaming up sweetly at the baffled brown eyes.

Honestly, when the over-sized brute wasn’t talking, he was almost attractive.

“What are you doing?”

Alas, that such peace couldn’t last forever. If the wretched creature was going to open his mouth, he could have – at least – done something useful with it, but apparently, that was hoping for too much. Drawing on a shared knowledge of the Germanic language, however, Angelus’ accent took on a different veneer that made it grate a little less than usual

“You always make such intriguing overtures, darling,” Herbert beamed at him. “I suppose I felt dreadful for being so unkind and evading you so often.”

And there it was, once more, blessed, startled, silent gawping.

“You’re saying you’re… interested?”

So, the silly boy wasn’t entirely idiotic, then, judging by the suspicious look on his face. Well, that was something.

“I’m saying,” Herbert pressed closer, until his body was in wickedly intimate contact with the length of Angelus’, his eyes holding the taller vampire’s. “I wish to make you an offer to recompense you for my earlier rudeness.”

“What kind of offer?” Angelus seemed to realise Herbert wasn’t about to pull away, and his broad hand pressed firmly against the base of Herbert’s back, possessive and dangerously strong.

Ah, how delightfully predictable.

Pushing against Angelus’ greater weight, Herbert slid his hand from Angelus’s shoulder to the middle of his chest, steering him easily from the dance-floor and out, into the hall and to privacy. Some standards, of course, had to be maintained, and it would hardly do to have William seeing what he was about to do in the name of diversion.

“A hunt,” he murmured, pressing Angelus back against the wall, in the shadows and out of sight of the majority of the guests in the ballroom. “These grounds are wide and extensive.”

“Free-range, eh?”

Herbert nodded with a slow smile. “I see you begin to understand.”

“The prey?”

Grey eyes glittered. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Angelus’ eyes raked over Herbert with a rude hunger, one side of his mouth curling up. “After all this time,” he said, one hand rising to sink into Herbert’s hair. “Thought you were just teasing, Herbie.”

Tolerating the cruel hand for a moment, Herbert’s fingers fisted into Angelus’ shirt, his eyes shadowed oddly by the light spilling from the ballroom door. “If I was,” he murmured silkily. “You would know.”

The hand in his hair tensed, those dark eyes mere inches from his own. “How do I know you’re not just doing the same this time?”

It certainly appeared that Angelus had conquered the challenge of rational thought, however briefly.

Herbert almost sighed. Alas, for the greater good, some sacrifices had to be made.

His own hand threaded through Angelus’ dark hair and he kissed the Irish vampire with all his skill and all his passion, unsurprised when he was clutched at with meaty hands that were used to taking exactly what they wished when they wished.

Greedy, grasping wretch.

Allowing it for but a moment, he broke free easily of Angelus’ grip, suddenly as aloof and ethereal as ever.

“You accept my hunt, then?” he murmured with such cloying sweetness that he wondered how Angelus could possibly be so blinded by his lust for conquest of one who had evaded him for so long.

It was a trifle flattering, admittedly, but really. The silly creature would last no time if he behaved that way.

“When?”

Walking his fingertips in a circle on Angelus’ chest, Herbert smiled. “I will take a half hour head start,” he said softly. “To make it... interesting. You must wait half an hour, cheri, else I would be forced to cancel the hunt.”

“Aye, aye... half an hour...” Angelus tried to grasp him again, but Herbert drew back a step.

“Half an hour, no less,” Herbert said, eyes flashing in warning. “Or else, you shall be at the forest’s mercy.” He lightly kissed his fingertip and touched it to Angelus’ lips, a smile tripping across his face. “Good hunting, cheri.”

Turning, Herbert walked towards the staircase, glancing back over one shoulder. “I trust you can find you way to the grounds, hmm?” The dark vampire was watching him intently and nodded. Herbert turned back and continued down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Good.”

___________________________

 

Staring around the vast room, awe written on his face, William’s hands trembled by his sides. Von Krolock, though his eyes were directed ahead, watched him from beneath his lashes.

As he had suspected, this intriguing young creature was far more than his defensive appearance indicated, and in the presence of von Krolock’s library, the boy looked as if he might go into paroxysms of delight.

“I would prefer that Angelus were not informed of this room,” he murmured.

William shook his head at once, eyes travelling from shelf to shelf. “No… no, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself in a place like this,” he agreed, taking a faltering step into the room. “All this is yours?”

“A hobby,” von Krolock made a casual gesture with one hand, moving deeper into the room. “One has so much time when one will live forever.”

He could almost sense the youngster trying to pull his carefully constructed mask back in place, to hide behind the coarse little ragamuffin that Angelus seemed to prefer; someone harsh and raw and utterly without emotion, and most certainly not an educated person who looked like he might burst with delight at the sight of the grandest library in Eastern Europe.

Even so, anyone with half a mind and a single wit who saw how William treated his beloved and quite mad Sire could see that he was not the animalistic creature Angelus seemed convinced he was.

“I should go and catch up with Angelus…”

Von Krolock paused where he stood, glancing over his shoulder. “In my house, guests are at liberty to do as they choose,” he observed quietly. “Not as they feel they should choose.”

The child’s indecision was precious, his perplexed frown almost palpable on the air.

Turning to face the youth, little more than a fledgling, barely half a year beyond the touch of mortality, von Krolock smiled fleetingly, gently encouraging. “I have no doubts Angelus would be most put out, should you intrude on his choice of hunt.”

“Drusilla...” William’s voice wavered uncertainly.

“She and Darla are also otherwise occupied,” von Krolock murmured. He had seen to it, in fact, having the two women pampered by some of his most loyal and, above all, strikingly handsome companions. He was silent for a moment, then made a casual gesture with one hand. “If you would rather roam the castle until they have a little time, I will not restrain you. There is much to see.”

Though he shied back towards the door slightly, William’s blue eyes darted along the shelves that lined the walls. Chewing his lower lip, he dared to look at the door, then puffed out his chest as if he had known his decision all the time.

“Since they’re busy, might as well kill some time in here,” he said loudly. “Better to wait in one place, so they know where to find me, instead of getting myself lost.”

Lowering his eyes and hiding his smile, von Krolock inclined his head in a brief bow of acquiescent acceptance. “I trust you will leave all as you have found it, when you tire of lingering here?”

He could sense the boy’s relief. William certainly did not want to admit he was an admirer of literature, so to hide behind the facade of boredom was an excuse he was quite willing to grasp and one von Krolock was quite content to offer.

In days such as these, it was unusual to find vampires as unique as those harvested by Angelus. Drusilla on her own was quite the find, but young William, clearly so much more than he appeared, was a charming addition to the little family and one von Krolock intended to observe and - if possible - preserve.

“Of course, sir.” There was a boyish grin that was utterly charming and full of mischief. “I would rather avoid a welcome like Angelus.”

“Oh, of that, you are quite assured,” von Krolock said lightly, returning the beaming smile of the young vampire with a quieter one of his own. Truly, this boy was far too charming for his own good. “Alas, I must tend to my other guests. Will your own company suffice for the moment?”

Nodding eagerly, William bowed slightly at the waist, with just enough respect but not as fawning as some of the others had been. “Thank you for your time, Sir,” he said earnestly.

In spite of his best intention to leave the boy entirely for his son, von Krolock brushed his knuckles lightly down the curve of William’s cheek. “It has been my pleasure, William,” he murmured, admiring the colour rising in the boy’s cheeks, a mingling of confusion and delight.

Better to go, now, rather than suffer Herbert’s indignation, which could be more frustrating than most reprehensible of guests.

With a flick of his cloak, he stepped towards the door, and without so much as a backward glance, he was gone.

_____________________________

 

Left to his own devices, William had hesitated for a moment before rushing over to one of the bookshelves, running his fingertips along the heavy spines, caressing the indented golden names reverently.

It had been weeks, months since he had touched a book, and this place, the smell, the atmosphere, everything about it made him giddy.

As much as he wished he could deny it, as much as he wished he could be dominant enough to stand against Angelus, he knew he would always and ever be drawn in by the familiarity of the art of words. Still, it didn’t mean he was about to let the elder vampire know it.

Bad enough to be mocked for his smaller stature and lesser build, but if Angelus discovered his poetry, his secret passion that still remained, he would be even fresher meat than he already was.

Scanning the bold titles as he brushed a hand along them, he felt weak with awe. If he had the choice, he knew he would have a collection such as this, with every book he had longed to lay his hands on, but - with his minimal finances - had been unable to even manage a single page thereof.

“Good god...” he whispered in shock, pulling one of the tomes from the shelf and staring at the front of the cover, hardly daring to believe what he was looking at. In trembling hands, he was cradling a copy of Byron.

His fingertips were hovering over the edge of the cover when a sound made him whirl around, sudden worry and agitation lashing him in equal measures. If it was Angelus, he would never hear the end of it...

The library looked empty.

Further along the room, a broad fireplace contained a flickering fire. There was a chaise standing before it and under his wary stare, an arm draped casually over the back of the couch.

Whoever it was on the couch, it certainly wasn’t Angelus. With long, white fingers and an elegantly ruffled sleeve, the solitary limb moved with too much grace to be the elder vampire.

William felt his shoulders sag in relief, to the point of taking a step or two closer to the chaise, curious now.

Over the soft crackle and snap of the flames, he heard a voice speak, “Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies, tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent.”

The accented French, perfectly articulated, was pure aural delight, leaving William staring in wide-eyed awe at the chaise. Such perfectly-spoken poetry more beautiful than anything he could ever imagine hearing outwith the gates of heaven itself.

The elegant hand pressed against the back of the chaise, the owner rising from his recumbent position with such grace, his gaze upon a smaller book held loosely in his other hand.

The Graf’s son!

Silhouetted against the mantle, the buttery light playing upon the silky spill of his golden hair and the white fabric of his shirt, Herbert continued to recite from the book. His voice was soft, sensuous, as if his lips loved shaping the very words they spoke.

As if drawn in by every word, William found himself moving closer and closer to better hear, his tongue touching his suddenly-dry lower lip. Had he still had need for breath, he knew he would have been holding it.

Slowly, enticingly, dark grey eyes turned to him. “Promène-toi, la nuit,” Herbert whispered silkily, gazing up at him with a small, enigmatic smile upon his lips. “En mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.”

William blinked at him and only just managed to catch the book that was slipping from his grip.

Closing his book, Herbert rested his chin on the hand of the arm draped on the back of the chaise, his grey eyes resting on William’s face. “You recognise Rimbaud?” he murmured, his intonation and accent perfection.

“I-I-I’ve heard of him,” William felt like his tongue was a rock in his mouth, his every word feeling so clumsy after the perfect purr that was Herbert’s voice, his school-room French not his strongest suit. “I-I’m afraid I didn’t have access to any of his work.”

“Oh, have no fear,” Herbert’s lips curled warmly. “Father has everything.” He tilted his head slightly. “And I see that you have discovered the Byron collection.” His eyes closed with a sigh that sounded out of place anywhere but the bedchamber, and William felt his cheeks flame at that thought. “Ah, he is exquisite.”

“Y-you’ve read him?”

“Alas,” Herbert shook his head with a sigh. “I cannot understand English, but my father has translated his words for me.” He looked as if he was listening to a beautiful music that only he could hear. “Such beautifully phrased meaning.”

William couldn’t help but stare at someone - another vampire, no less - who found poetry as pleasing as he did. He was clinging to the heavy book, a sense of the real in a world that suddenly seemed quite extraordinary.

Abruptly, grey eyes opened, looking up at him. “Will you read for me?” Herbert asked eagerly, motioning for William to join him. “I have longed to hear the language of Byron in the tongue of a native of his land.”

“But... but you said yourself that you don’t understand it,” William mumbled, shying back and clutching the book against his chest.

“Pah!” Herbert patted the chaise again, beaming. “It is all a matter of expression and emotion, cheri.” His lips curled warmly. “Come now, you do not wish to upset the son of your most generous host, do you?”

William bit his lip. Surely sitting next to the Graf’s son was harmless, even if the golden-haired vampire did seem rather overly-friendly. Sidling around the chaise, he gingerly sat down on the edge.

Grey eyes gazed at him, wounded. “Am I so terrifying?” the other vampire asked mournfully, the hurt in his eyes so heartfelt and woeful that William physically winced. Herbert patted the middle of the chaise. “Come, William. Let me read with you.”

He looked so utterly charming and genuinely interested that William wondered why he had hesitated at all and shuffled along sheepishly until there was less than a hand-span’s space between them.

“Er…”

“May I choose?” Herbert asked, grey eyes so bright and eager, and William held out the book mutely to him. Parting the pages with a reverence William would have used himself, Herbert smoothed a page and laid the book back in William’s hands. “That one, if you will.”

William looked down, then felt as if his innards had turned to ice, his hands gripping the edges of the book. On the page, the words were blurred into a mass of grey and he squinted at them uncertainly.

“I-I really am terrible at reading aloud,” he mumbled, trying to close to book. “I-I stammer and...” Herbert’s hand prevented him from shutting the book and he turned, only to find grey eyes gazing at him.

“Please,” the Graf’s son murmured, so close, so polite, so striking, so charming. “I would be delighted to hear it, regardless.”

William realised, belatedly, that he was staring again and, colouring deeply, looked back down at the traitorous page with eyes that refused to work as efficiently as the rest of his cursed body.

“Your pronunciation and diction were so...” There was no word, none that could do it justice, and William scuffed his feet against the carpet. “I would be ashamed to disappoint you.”

Herbert’s chuckle was soft, sincere and not at all patronising. “Cheri, since I have no idea what it is meant to sound like, you think I would know?” he said, sliding a little closer. He gazed down at the page and carefully articulated the first line, stumbling on the vowels, “And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth.”

Hopeful blue eyes turned to stare at him. By sheer chance, by sheer, breathtaking coincidence, Herbert had selected the one poem he knew by heart, the one poem he had loved since he had read it in a classroom, when the teacher had been unaware of his attention.

“Oh...” he whispered.

Grey eyes met his, so close to his it almost seemed conspiratorial. “You know this poem?” he asked softly. William nodded wordlessly. “Will you say it for me, cheri?”

“I couldn’t do it justice,” William stammered, shaking his head.

His arm draped along the back of the chaise behind William, Herbert’s chest was almost touching William’s arm. “Do not doubt yourself, William,” he whispered. “I would hear you say it... even if you must close your eyes... please?”

Even if it had been any other poem, he knew he would never have been able to resist that softly-spoken request.

Looking down at the book, as if feigning reading, he cleared his throat.

“And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth;” he heard his voice tremble and cursed himself inwardly, drawing a breath and forcing himself to speak all the clearer. “And form so soft, and charms so rare, too soon return'd to Earth!”

“To earth...” Herbert’s voice echoed in a breathless whisper and he felt the other vampire’s cheek close to his, the Graf’s son reading over his shoulder. He felt the hand on his shoulder toying with his drawn-back hair, forced his memory to action.

“Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed, and o'er the spot the crowd may tread in carelessness or mirth,” His fingers depressed against the page as he felt the ribbon tugged from his hair, felt curls spill against his shoulders and cheeks. “Th-there is an eye which could not brook a-a moment on that grave to look.”

Cool fingers were stroking through his hair, brushing the nape of his neck, and he swallowed hard, the blur of the page dancing even more before his blinking eyes.

The poem.

Focus on the poem.

What could be done as long as he was reciting the words?

What would happen when he ran out?

His tongue darted against his lower lip.

“I-I-I will not ask where thou liest low,” he heard the stammer in his voice, but could not find the nerve to quell it. “N-nor gaze upon the spot; there flowers or weeds at will may grow, so I behold them not...”

“Beautiful,” Herbert’s whisper was soft against his cheek. “More, William...”

It took a moment for him to forget the pleasant sensation of the elder vampire’s breath on his cheek, his unseeing eyes staring at the page.

“It... er... it...” He had to squint at the text, forcing his mind to action. “It is enough for me to prove that what I lov'd, and long must love, like common earth can rot;” He placed a finger against the text, his hand shaking when the lips that had been so close to his cheek touched the corner of his jaw, sending a peculiar flutter through him. “T-t-to me there needs no stone to tell, tis nothing that I lov'd so well!”

Those lips withdrew with a chuckle. “Is the squeal necessity?” Herbert murmured.

Blushing furiously, William stared down at the page. Those same long fingers were smoothing through his hair, drawing it back from his cheeks.

The poem. The poem. Safer to focus on that.

The words...

Oh God, what were the words?

He desperately peered down at the page, narrowing his eyes in a vain attempt to make out the letters. “Yet...” Oh yes! “Yet did I love thee to the last...” His breath caught when lips touched his earlobe, his whole body jolting as if shocked. “A-a-a-as fervently as thou,” He drew a panting gasp when the tip of a wicked tongue traced the shell of his ear. “Oh!”

He felt more than heard the warm chuckle. “So easily distracted?” the whisper was accompanied by the teasing lap, an intimate invasion, which made his thighs tense to still his wanton hips.

Not without defiance, William drew a steadying breath, his voice quivering as he made himself continue, “Wh-who didst not change through all the past and canst not alter no... oh...” The nip of fangs on his lobe made him jump.

“Oh?”

His lower lip trembling as he tried to force down the ridiculous, wicked desire that was running through him, William’s fingers gripped the book like a shield, his eyes squeezing closed.

It did, however, take all his effort and concentration to continue to recite; “The love where Death has set his seal.” He was stammering, but no longer cared, adamant to finish the poem despite the hand on his chest, caressing him through his shirt. “Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, nor falsehood disavow: And, what were worse, thou canst not see or wrong, or change, or fault in me.”

A muffled whimper escaped him when he felt bare skin against his own, a splayed hand roaming, teasing, smoothing his skin as if it were a fabric of quality, luxuriating in the texture.

“Oh, William.” Herbert’s weight had shifted, one of his legs pressed flush against William’s, and the younger vampire trembled in spite of himself. “You have no idea how lovely you are...”

Averting his face, ashamed and delighted at once by such a compliment, William whispered, “The better days of life were ours; The worst can be but mine:” He inhaled as his throat was raked by fangs. “Th-th-the sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, shall never more be thine.”

He felt the lips on his throat, felt that wandering hand drift lower and lower still, knew he should shy away, knew he should return to the ballroom, to find Drusilla, to find anyone who would not touch him just like that, who would not touch him there...

“Oh God...” He was shivering, so hard, so desperately, forcing his mind away from the physical desire, forcing himself to... to remember, to behave properly, to...

“Th-the silence of that dreamless sleep,” he gasped out as his hips twitched towards that unfamiliar touch. “I-I-I-I envy now too much to weep...”

Suddenly, the book was gone from his hands and the touches vanished.

His eyes snapped open wide, hands hovering over empty air, and he stared down at Herbert, his mind fogged with the most carnal of thoughts. Grey eyes gazed up at him with such powerful captivation that he half-sighed, half-whimpered in longing.

Then the son of the Graf lowered his head, his golden head, his mouth...

“OH!” Grabbing the Rimbaud book, William remorselessly struck the other vampire on the head with the small tome, startling Herbert so much that he pulled back. With a panicked yelp, William scrambled back and along the chaise, falling off the end.

Sitting on the hearthrug, a surprised look on his face, Herbert stared at him, then slowly started to grin. He rolled onto his feet, light as a cat, approaching the fallen and stumbling William. “Cheri, that was silly...”

Tottering to his feet, William tried to hold his trousers and his shirt closed with some of the human modesty that remained. “I-I... you shouldn’t do that!” he mumbled, backing away.

“Why not, cheri?” As he prowled closer, Herbert’s smile was far from innocent. “I think you were enjoying it.”

William backed around the chaise, trying to put a little distance between them, his wide eyes on Herbert’s face. “It’s not natural!” he exclaimed, his cheeks flushing as he remembered just how pleasant that unnatural sensation was.

Abruptly, a firm body was against his back, an arm around his waist and lips at his throat. “Neither are we, my beautiful, cherubic darling,” Herbert’s voice was like silk and William felt his legs - already unsteady - trembling. The light kiss against his throat was innocent, chaste. The hand moving on him... wasn’t. “We are damned already, William... why not enjoy a little debauchery as well?”

Still clutching convulsively at the front of his shirt, William pressed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip. When his hips jerked up against Herbert’s palm, he gasped aloud, “Dru! I-I...”

A cool fingertip turned William’s head, and he found grey eyes gazing at him. “She has her playthings, William,” Herbert murmured, brushing a kiss against the protesting lips. “Why should you not have the same?”

William tried to exclaim that it wasn’t true, that they were destined and that she did love him, in spite of it, in spite of Angelus, in spite of... in spite of the fact that he found himself returning Herbert’s kiss, tentatively, uncertainly, as if expecting to be struck by a bolt of lightning from above.

Drawn around to face Herbert, William felt his shirt pushed from his shoulders, felt hands roaming him, found his own hands moving. He was pushed back, gently, with kisses and caresses, onto the chaise, breeches lost somewhere in the half-dozen paces, and this time when lips touched him, he allowed himself to succumb, shivering and twining his hands into Herbert’s golden hair.

Herbert played his body as a master musician would his instrument, making him tremble, making him gasp, drawing the most rare and illusive notes from him, until he was drawn as tight as a bow-string, plucked until his body resonated with pleasure and he collapsed back with a half-cry, half-moan.

Those wicked, sinful lips pressed to his bare thigh and he uttered a sigh at the pleasant sting of a bite.

His eyes half-closed, his body still trembling, William slid his tongue along his dry lips, drawing his hands up to rest on his chest. Why he was panting, he could not say, nor could he think, but his breath was stolen afresh when Herbert leaned over him and kissed him easily, so naturally, so comfortably.

“Now, you are a shirtlifter too, cheri.” The cheerful murmur made his eyes open wide and he started to rise, dismay on his face. After everything his mum had told him, he had fallen on his back for one of the worst kinds...

Angelus would find that hilarious too. Not just a soft poet-loving sap, but a shirtlifter as well.

Apparently his anxiety was clearly marked on his face, for Herbert kissed him hard, and all at once he found himself on his back on the carpet in front of the fire, the other vampire sliding between his thighs.

With a sound of protest, he tried to pull away, to squirm free, but Herbert caught his wrists and pinned him to the floor with a slow and thoroughly wicked smile. “If you are to regret your new taste,” he purred, rolling his hips against William’s, “I suggest we give you something more memorable to regret...”

“No...” William whispered, arching with a helpless whimper as those wicked lips touched his throat again and, flesh-to-flesh, he felt something stirring within him, beyond primal, beyond control, beyond thought. “Oh…”

“Oui, cheri.” His voice and touch sensual weapons, Herbert started to murmur that wonderful, beautiful, damned, bloody poem to him, all the while kissing him, touching him, caressing him, making him writhe and pant and beg for more.

__________________________

 

A light snow was falling in whirling coils, and by the flickering torchlight the figures standing in the doorway of the castle seemed oddly silhouetted by the blackness of the night beyond.

Their carriage was awaiting them and the sound of uneasy horses echoed in the grand lobby as the quartet bid their farewells to old acquaintances and to the Master of the house and his son.

After kissing the hands of the ladies, Herbert had grinned devilishly before planting ferocious kisses on both Angelus and William, leaving both of the exhausted-looking vampires staggering slightly, as he turned and ran lightly up the staircase, into the heart of the castle.

His father found him a short while later, standing on the balcony overlooking the palace grounds, as the carriage bumped and rocked its way towards the gates. A tawny-haired head poked momentarily out of the window, gleaming by the misted moonlight, then pulled back in.

“It seems that all of our guests were quite satisfied,” von Krolock murmured, approaching his son. His cloak lifted and shifted against the wind, light flakes of snow clinging to his eyelashes.

Herbert folded his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet, and hummed happily in agreement. “So it seemed.”

“Even Angelus seemed quite satisfied.”

The grin that crossed his son’s face was wickedly gleeful. “He genuinely believed I was in the forest with him all night,” he noted, looking at his father. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”

With a brief gesture of one hand, little more than a twitch of his fingers, von Krolock dismissed such a concept. “I cannot imagine how he found your scent repeatedly,” he said in all innocence. “Especially in the vicinity of the wolf pack…”

“Oh, you didn’t…”

“Then there was that stumble along the ravine by the river…” Dark eyes turned gravely to grey. “I expect you granted him half an hour?” Herbert nodded. “I saw him slip out less than twenty minutes after you.” He clicked his tongue. “I could not abide such flagrant disobedience of the rules.”

Herbert was grinning widely. “You are a noble and honourable man, father,” he said, trying to feign a virtuous look.

“And, as you are in such high spirits, I am assured that you are not.”

Nibbling on his thumbnail, Herbert’s eyes were round with innocence. “We had a poetry reading,” he said, fluttering wickedly long golden lashes. “Young William has quite a tongue for it.”

Von Krolock said nothing in response, merely arching a brow, though not without a touch of amusement.

His lips twitching, Herbert tried to maintain a straight face, but it faltered and his grin broke across his features, his eyes dancing. “I think it suffices to say that the dear boy appreciates Byron all the more thanks to my lesson,” he said, then bit his lower lip, his expression impish.

“Is that so?”

Herbert tangled his fingers together in front of his chest in a parody of demureness, his smile far from innocent. “Well, he didn’t say he wouldn’t visit again,” he said. “I would say that was positive.”

“And no doubt, you will continue his education?”

Despite the mirth in his father’s eyes, Herbert nodded gravely. “If I must, I will tie him down and teach him everything I know,” he said. “After all, it is my duty to teach those less fortunate than myself.”

Von Krolock chuckled. “That poor boy,” he murmured.


	2. Over Troubled Water

The Ball of 1882

 

Snow was whirling on the gusting winds, thick coils whipped from ground and the bleak winter sky. Dark storm clouds, black and ponderous, hung low overhead, near scraping the tips of the castle’s topmost tower.

In the yard before the castle, carriages were rattling up into the grounds, bearing guests of note, far-travelled and of high blood lines among the vampire kin. Within the graveyard, those who were rising did so with greater alacrity than usual.

Upon the stairs of the foyer, von Krolock was presiding over the most recent arrivals. With subtle inclination of his head, he granted approval and acknowledgement to those who earned it and dignified aloofness for those who had not.

By his side, Herbert was leaning lazily against the banister, examining the carvings along the edge of the ceiling as if he had never seen them before. His darling boy always did appreciate the balls, but could never enjoy the waiting nor the pomposity of some of their guests.

A large coach clattered to a halt before the grand double doors, the door on one side slamming open forcefully. Even before the guests emerged, von Krolock could hear the argument already under way.

“You’re going to behave properly, William, is that understood?”

There was a snort of laughter. “Yeah. Says you and what army?” Abruptly, Herbert was standing upright, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “Anyway, _you_ were the one that was in trouble.”

“More reason for you to behave yourself, _boy_.” The growl rumbled from within the darkness of the carriage as a slim, tawny-haired young vampire hopped lightly down onto the ground, smirking.

Ah, that would explain his son’s interest.

“Just because you got your arse knocked out of shape doesn’t mean we’re all as stupid as you are,” the young vampire said, then offered his hands to a silhouette in the doorway. “Give me your hands, love.” With a gentleness that seemed to collide against his manners, he lifted his Sire down from the carriage, smiling adoringly at her until her Sire swung down and shoved him aside. “Manners, Angelus.”

With a low growl, Angelus caught the boy’s coat, pulling his face close. “Listen to me and listen well, lad,” he snarled. “You would do well to respect your elders. Call it friendly advice.”

From the staircase, von Krolock inclined his head slightly. So, in the absence of two years, Angelus’ boorish manners and crassness had rubbed off on the quiet, bookish youngster that had charmed his son so.

He slanted a glance at Herbert and could see that his son was observing the same thing, his flashing eyes on William. Though he seemed at ease, there was a subtle line of tension in his posture that von Krolock recognised.

His face less than a hand’s width from Angelus’s, William looked like he was having trouble keeping his face straight and his laughter bubbled up easily. “Sounds like you’re still a bit put out about last year,” he said, grinning far too widely. He pushed Angelus’s hands away easily. “Sorry I missed it. Bet it was a top show.”

The strike to the back of the boy’s head was merciless, but - in spite of staggering - William straightened from it, still grinning, blue eyes gleaming. “Forgot your lady, Angelus,” he noted. “Might want to hoist her down.”

In the doorway of the carriage, Darla was watching the scene with clear fury, which was only stoked when her childe turned to her, glaring. Helped from the carriage, she reached up and pulled his face down to her level, snarling a low warning that made the large, dark vampire glower all the more.

Looking towards Herbert, von Krolock arched an eyebrow. “Will you join me in greeting our guests, Herbert?” he murmured. Herbert said nothing, his arms folded on his chest, his icy gaze fixed on the group. “Very well.”

Descending the staircase, his presence was noted first by Drusilla. She had been weaving patterns in the air with her fingertips, her head rolling on her slender neck, the tip of her tongue sliding along her upper teeth, but as his foot touched the hall floor, her eyes snapped open and she smiled broadly at him.

“Lions and lambs all lie down,” she cooed. “The Master and Maker looks and sees all.”

Abruptly, Darla’s ire was smothered and she was smiling charmingly at him. “Your Excellency,” she said brightly, sweeping past Angelus, Drusilla and the snickering William to extend her hands to him.

Accepting her slim fingers, von Krolock inclined his head marginally as she sank into an appropriately humble curtsey. “Darla,” he murmured. “I was not certain if you would attend this year.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t miss it!” William’s voice rang out laughingly. “Heard it was quite the do last year.” A second blow caught William on the head, knocking him reeling and Angelus growled again.

With a hiss of her own, Darla shot an icy look over her shoulder. “Boys.”

Angelus’s expression was ugly and he directed a murderous look at William, who pushed his hands deep in his pockets, smirking and rocking on his feet. They did consent to behave, however briefly.

Ignoring the manly posturing for a moment, von Krolock allowed his attention to turn to Drusilla, who was twirling happily on the spot, her hair and skirts whirling about her beautifully.

“Drusilla.”

Stopping dead, she wove her hands over her head. “Red like a rose,” she said, her eyes half-closed. “Angry like fire...” A moan escaped her. “It burns all up, burning and ashes until there’s nothing left... nothing but ice...” She leaned closer, whispering secretively. “But the ice is hiding fire within its belly...” She ran her hand over her stomach. “And it will eat him all up.”

Gazing at her, the Graf teased through the words, seeking a meaning that was as intangible as mist. “As you say, I trust it will be,” he murmured, extending a hand to her. She rested her fingertips on the very ends of his and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly.

Gently releasing her hand, he finally acknowledged the two male vampires, his dark eyes slipping from one to the other. Angelus bowed his head at once, his lesson clearly still intact.

William, however, seemed to have lost all fear. With a polite tilt of his head, his smile was far more open and cheerful than it had been on his previous visit. And was equally just as false as this new facade he had created for himself.

Von Krolock continued to gaze at him for a moment and saw the instant the smile faltered slightly. It was barely noticeable, unless one was watching for it.

“Gentlemen,” he murmured, gesturing for them to enter with a curl of one hand. He returned to the foot of the staircase, glancing up at Herbert, who had not moved then turned to face the quartet of guests. “Your rooms are prepared. Koukol will bring your accoutrements to you shortly.”

“Your Excellency is most kind,” Darla said with a second curtsey. Here was one, at least, who knew the importance of manners and behaviour in front of one’s host. “It has been a long journey.”

With a significant glance at the two males behind her, von Krolock smiled lightly. “One might presume so,” he murmured and saw the rueful, tired smile that briefly touched her lips.

With a look over her shoulder, she caught Angelus’ attention long enough to have him follow her as she proceeded up the staircase. Von Krolock did not need to look round to know that Angelus was warily giving Herbert a wide berth, not solely for the emotionless iciness of his son’s expression.

“Drusilla,” he murmured, drawing her to one side. “Might I speak with you?”

“Little birdies,” she whispered. “Twittering away, unseen, as the hunter hunts for the little rabbit. Hop. Hop. Hop.”

He barely noted her words, watching William over her shoulder. The boy had finally noticed Herbert and that fragile mask he was wearing was shivering. He forced the smile, blue eyes uncertain in their emotion. “All right, Herbert?”

Grey eyes that were as cold as the winter snows gazed down at him. “You address me like you know me,” he said coolly. “What makes you think you have the right?”

If he had walked down the stairs and kicked William in the face, he could not have produced more surprise. “I... I thought...”

Herbert looked him up and down, his upper lip curling. “I don’t know you.”

Without saying anything further, he turned on his heel and stalked up the stairs, not even pausing to look back. He passed Angelus and Darla at the top of the staircase, and his growl echoed through the hall.

Von Krolock could sense the surprise of the elders, yet they left the boy standing where he was, staring sightlessly up the staircase. Had William’s facade been crafted from crystal, it would not have shattered quite as beautifully.

“Shot full of holes,” Drusilla whispered, lifting her hands to her mouth. “Bang, bang, the little rabbit falls down... and the hunter shall have his supper tonight...”

William seemed quite rooted to the spot, but finally managed to blink. He turned to the Graf and for a moment looked so startled, so very lost that von Krolock almost felt pity for him.

Then he forced a quivering laugh and resolutely clawed his mask back into place, though his voice still trembled. “What was that about?”

“Fire and ice all burning up,” Drusilla chanted, drawing from the Graf to approach the boy. “Oh, sweet Willy, all pricked with thorns... took the wrong end of the rose and got all prickles...”

The swiftness with which he took her in his arms, holding her fast, as if seeking some desperate reaffirming gesture made the Graf lift a brow. So Herbert’s display had hurt him so? Did Herbert suspect it would? And was William even aware of it?

William looked up the stairs again and on Drusilla’s back, his hands trembled. Blue eyes darted towards the Graf and he saw William wet his lips. “Sir... did... have I done something to upset him?”

Von Krolock’s expression softened. So the boy still had some manner and care for others in him. That, at least, was deserving of Herbert’s time. “I think,” he said softly. “That is a question you should ask him yourself, William.” He inclined his head. “I think you might know where to seek him.”

William nodded and the smile that tugged his lips so weakly was far more genuine than the grin he had worn only moments earlier. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “Dru, will you be...”

“I shall watch over your lady,” von Krolock murmured, approaching and extending a hand to her. Drusilla beamed and laid her hand in his. With a quiet nod towards the upper landing, the Graf smiled faintly. “You know your way?”

With a nod, William took to the stairs, running lightly and rapidly.

“See the rabbit chasing the hunter...” Drusilla whispered, snapping her fingertips at the air. “Run, rabbit, run...”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Hurrying through the quiet halls, William hastily straightened his coat, smoothing the heavy lapels. One hand self-consciously smoothed his hair back, trying to arrange his ponytail more neatly.

Whatever he had done to offend the Graf’s son, he had no idea, but seeing those eyes gazing down at him, so cold, so unfriendly…

Of all the vampires he had been forced into meeting since his last visit, Herbert and his father had been the ones he had found the best company. Most of the others were completely focused on violence and mayhem, but the Graf and his son were more than that, intelligent and willing to accept him as he was.

Of course, keeping company with Angelus meant a constant battle of personalities, and he had been forced to hide that side of himself, trying to match him, better him, keep himself high enough in the esteem of the others they ran into. It wouldn’t do to be thought of as weak or feeble.

He still remembered fighting back grief as he tossed away his books under his Sire’s Sire’s watchful and mocking gaze. That was one of the many reasons he had started to hate the wretched brute. That and because of Dru.

And then, last year, he had wanted to come back so badly, but Angelus…

He and Drusilla had been sent off to England, told that an invite hadn’t come for him or Dru, while Darla and Angelus went off together. It had been like a slap in the face for him. He had wreaked such violence on the populace that fortnight.

When the elder pair returned, Angelus scarred, bloody and limping, and Darla informed them that their absence had been most remiss, William had _laughed_. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the vexation on the faces of his elders had been too much not to.

True, he had been beaten bloody afterwards himself, but it had been worth it.

Turned out Angelus had found out about his encounter with Herbert and on top of that, turned out Angelus had tried to take a slice of the cake. Looked like Herbert had not been best pleased about that. And when William wouldn’t stop laughing, shaking with hysteria, he was thrashed again.

He’d long since got used to the elder vampire’s violence, could turn the pain away without effort, using mirth to drive Angelus to greater levels of frustration. That occasion, the beating was worse than usual, but every night for a month, he promised himself he would come to the castle and kiss Herbert full on the mouth in gratitude.

After all, it wasn’t often you were given such quality material to mock your Sire’s Sire with.

Pausing outside the library, he hastily arranged the loose cravat. He was wearing the same clothes as he had on their last visit, not by choice, but in defiance of Angelus and his fancy gear. They were shabbier now, and he felt a sudden wave of uncomfortable self-consciousness.

Maybe that was it? Maybe he should have dressed better, made more of an effort, instead of determinedly trying to get up Angelus’ nose. Maybe striving for their approval instead of Angelus’ disapproval would have worked just as well.

Too late for it now.

Even if he’d had anything better to wear, he wanted to see Herbert right away, to see if he could undo whatever it was that he had done wrong.

Opening the library doors, he ignored the tremor in his hands and stepped into the huge room. The scent of leather and aged books washed over him, making him shiver with recollection, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, just revelling in it.

Somewhere in the depth of the room, lit so warmly by the fire in the grate, the distant whistle of the wind making it seem all the cosier, he heard the quiet familiar sound of a page being turned.

Closing the doors carefully behind him, he bit on his lower lip as he looked around the towering shelves. His footfalls were light, but still sounded deafening in the silence as he made his way towards the centre of the room.

Herbert was there, just as he had hoped and expected.

He was sitting at the broad table a dozen paces away from the couch, his back to the door and to William. Bent over a book, his cheek was resting against his left hand, the flicker of the flames illuminated him and stretched the shadow of his chair out behind him.

Hesitating, William stopped at the edge of the stretching shadows, the fading edge touching the toes of his boots. “Herbert…?”

Herbert’s head tilted slightly, but he didn’t look around and he made no reply.

Approaching the table, he stopped several paces from Herbert’s chair, pushing his hands into his pockets to stop himself twisting them together like a girl. “You’re angry with me.”

The only response was the turning of a page. Herbert didn’t even look up at him.

“You want to hit me?” he offered, hoping it would be accepted. He was used to that now. Physical violence was much easier to take than this silence and coldness. “You can. I won’t run off or anything.” He scuffed one foot against the floor. “Didn’t mean to annoy you.”

For a split-second, Herbert’s hand went still on the page of the book he was reading, then moved again. Words seemed impossible to achieve.

Looking away from Herbert, he started at the sight of objects that were lying on the table, placed at the seat beside Herbert’s. He hesitated again, then pulled the chair back so he could look closer.

On top of an open book, there was a pair of glasses that were so familiar that William trembled. He’d lost them, years back, he knew it. He’d left them in his coat pocket one night and had never seen them since.

“Where did you…” He reached down, picking them up and turning them over in his hands, hardly daring to believe they were truly his. But yes, there were the initials that he had painstakingly carved with a pin and filled with Indian ink, in case he lost them.

Sinking into the chair, he stared at the glasses, dazed wonder filling him.

There was a quiet thump as Herbert closed his book.

“They belonged to someone I considered a friend,” he said quietly.

“Considered?” William echoed, looking at him. “Not… not anymore?”

Rising from his chair without even looking down at him, Herbert picked up his book and examined the cover. “I do not know if he exists any longer,” he replied. “All I see is a mannerless boor, an English ruffian cut from the same cloth as one I despise.”

Lowering his eyes, words failing him, William stared at his glasses. They had been so much a part of him before he became a demon and now, he had gone without them and was becoming more and more like Angelus. Always needed them for reading, but when he’d given up books, he hadn’t missed them. Now, though, surrounded on all sides by the Graf’s library and accompanied by the one vampire he had ever seen reading…

Unfolding the spindly legs, he hesitated then slipped them on, looking down at the book they had been laid on.

It was a poetry book, opened already, and as he focused on the words, his eyes went round. Leaning forward, he touched his fingertips to the page and he remembered the last time he had heard that poem, purred against his ear by the vampire standing at the end of the table, reducing him to an incoherent jumble of quivering nerves.

“And thou art dead…” he heard himself whispering. “As young and fair as aught of mortal birth…” He almost jumped when he felt fingers sink into his hair, raking along his scalp, making him shiver. His eyes rose to Herbert who was standing above him, the ice in his grey eyes softening. “I had to,” he whispered. “They… don’t like ones like me…”

Herbert gazed at him soberly. “They may not,” he murmured. “But there are those who do, William.”

Averting his face, William pulled the glasses off and folded them carefully. “But I’m not here much,” he mumbled, trying his utmost to ignore the sensation of fingertips on the nape of his neck.

“That,” Herbert said quietly. “I had noticed.” Elegant fingers lifted William’s chin, forcing him to meet the grey eyes. “Angelus told you that you were not welcome last year, did he not?”

Lowering his eyes, William would have nodded if he could. “He sent Dru and I to Liverpool,” he admitted then laughed faintly, glancing up again. “I think he wanted us to suffer.”

Herbert leaned closer, sitting on the edge of the table. “And did you?” he asked, his eyes so close, so unreadable, that William found himself staring. His hands had long-since dropped to his lap and he drew a sharp breath as the back of Herbert’s fingers ran down the front of his throat. Herbert tilted his head minutely. “Hmm?”

“Y-yes.”

Whether it had been what he planned to say or not, that was what escaped him, only to be captured by Herbert’s kiss.

Either he rose into it or Herbert sank to meet him, but he found himself clutching at the older vampire as Herbert’s lips moved off his, touching jaw, then throat, the hand that had been sunk in William’s hair cradling the back of his head.

The other hand, the one that had brushed his throat so distractingly, tugged at his cravat, loosening it, and that made William shy back, remembering why he had actually bothered with the thing in the first place.

Apparently, it was too late for that.

The curse still somehow managed to sound quite beautiful on Herbert’s lips.

Cool fingers were laid against his throat, matching the spots where Angelus had caught him by the neck and squeezed until he had lost consciousness on the way to the castle. That was something William hadn’t known was physically possible until that moment, and he had decided he didn’t like it at all.

“Him?”

William’s smile felt crooked, but it was there at least. “Turns out I’m rather good at making him angry,” he admitted quietly, lifting his hand and pulling his collar up to hide the bruises that had been left.

Sitting back on the edge of the table, Herbert gazed at him for so long that he lowered his eyes and looked down at the hand still cradling his glasses. There was a speck of dust on one of the lenses and with a fingertip, he brushed it off.

Replacing them where he had picked them up, he was still gazing at them pensively when Herbert spoke, moments later.

“I think,” he said. “That you should tell me about all of your adventures.” He smiled as William looked up at him. “I have been stranded here for years, cheri, while you have been traipsing around Europe.”

Pale slim hands were offered to him and William let himself be pulled upright and led towards the couch before the fireplace. “There’s really not that much to tell,” he protested faintly.

As if he had not heard, Herbert peeled William’s overcoat off and tossed it aside, his nose wrinkling slightly. He nudged William to sit, then settled beside him, draping an arm around William’s shoulders, the frostiness of his reception utterly thawed.

“I want to hear anyway, cheri,” he said firmly. He drew his legs up onto the couch, his other hand idly tweaking at the buttons of William’s shabby shirt. “And then, I may have to let you borrow something respectable to wear.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Beneath their feet, the layer of snow lay thick on the stone walkway. William had been bundled into one of Herbert’s winter coats, despite protesting, and was presently gazing up at the sky.

After several hours of conversation in the library, Herbert had insisted that William see more of the castle. They had emerged onto the battlements to find the night sky beautifully clear, barely a cloud left, the storm blown out. The moon was a grinning crescent and the stars seemed even brighter than usual.

“How long have you been here?” William asked, approaching the balustrade and peering over. Below was a sheer drop into a distant courtyard.

“Forever,” Herbert replied, watching him. “I was born in this castle.”

Blue eyes turned towards him, bleached to silver by the moonlight. William looked surprised at that. “You were? Here? I mean, your mortal birth?”

Herbert smiled softly, lifting a hand to smooth William’s hair back from his face, so striking by the light of the night.

“My mortal birth,” he murmured. “This castle was my father’s father’s.” His brows drew together in thought. “A long time ago.” He became aware that William was still watching him, a puzzled look on his pretty little face, and smiled again. “I told you I had been stranded here for years, did I not?”

William was still gaping at him and Herbert took the opportunity to lean in and kiss his parted lips lightly.

William leaned back, his forehead wrinkling. “You mean the Graf... he’s your father? By blood?”

Herbert laughed, brushing his fingertips against William’s cheek. “You were not aware of that?” he said, looking skywards as the first flecks of snow started to fall again, catching in William’s tawny hair.

“Always thought he was your Sire...”

Touching William’s lips lightly, Herbert gazed at him. “He is my father,” he said, a glimmer of mirth in his eyes. “And not my lover, despite popular whispers.”

The relief that flooded William’s face was delightful, almost as charming as the blush that he might have thought such a thing. Herbert chuckled, then leaned closer and replaced his fingertips with his lips, his kiss gentler than any they had shared.

Perhaps that was what made William draw back, his breath shivering between their lips. Snowflakes were clinging to his eyelashes and his pale skin.

“I should find Drusilla,” he whispered, indecision etched on his face.

Grey eyes watched his, and Herbert lifted a hand to touch his cheek. “Do you have to?” he asked softly.

That was the greater mistake. He knew it the moment he said it. William stared at him for a long moment and though there was the desire in his eyes, there was also another emotion Herbert recognised from their last encounter.

So he laughed.

And in response, William laughed nervously too.

Casting aside softness and gentle touches, Herbert pulled William into his arms and smiled his broadest, wickedest smile. “I wish you could have seen the look on your face, my darling!” he exclaimed. “You looked like you were expecting me to propose marriage or some such nonsense!”

William’s smile broadened to match his. “You did look rather serious,” he said, though not without a touch of a stammer in his words.

“Oh, my sweet, silly darling.” Herbert rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Don’t you know I am never serious?”

And with that, he kissed him firmly, ravishing any protest from William’s mouth, his hands slipping under the heavy winter coat. And as hands clutched at him and William uttered sweet gasps, Herbert’s smile almost reached his eyes.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The dawn was close, the scent of coming morning filling the air as the distant hues of day touching upon the lip of the horizon. Descending into the courtyard, the Graf von Krolock crossed the snow-layered ground towards the crypt.

As a precaution against the rivals he took in as guests, he slumbered in this shelter of stone, unreachable to all but the most suicidal of vampires, the gauntlet between castle and crypt filled with sunlight from dawn until dusk.

Likewise, his son occupied a sarcophagus close to his own unless something or some misadventure distracted him and led to him spending his nights in his bed chamber within the castle.

That, it seemed, was not the case.

Against his own sarcophagus, Herbert was surveying the ceiling, an expression of utter boredom on his face. A glass of wine dangled from his fingers as an enthusiastic young vampire worked his mouth down the front of Herbert’s bared body.

Herbert’s other hand was braced against the edge of the tomb, neither encouraging nor discouraging the pale-haired youth at his feet. That itself caused von Krolock’s brow to arch, his son reputed to be the most generous of lovers.

Lifting his glass to his lips, he drained the rest of the wine, and judging by the shimmer in his eyes it was not the first. With a scowl at the treacherous vessel, as if angered by the fact it was empty, he threw it over his shoulder to shatter on the floor.

Stepping down into the crypt, von Krolock saw the slight blond boy at Herbert’s feet start, turning to stare around at him. His eyes widened and he shied back from the Graf’s son, bowing his head hastily.

That Herbert chose to ignore this slight and the presence of his father said more than words could.

Approaching them, von Krolock inclined his head towards the door and the young vampire scrambled hastily to his feet. Watching the boy scurry out, von Krolock flicked the door shut with a touch of magic, closing out the coming morning.

He turned back to the sarcophagus to find Herbert staring at him reproachfully. His hands were resting on the lip of stone, clutching it for balance, and his grey eyes were glassy. “That wasn’t very nice, father,” he mumbled. “Poor little...” He frowned more deeply. “Whatever his name was... it wasn’t nice to interrupt...”

“Whatever his name was?” Von Krolock gazed at him. “You took a lover whose name you did not know?”

“I did not say I did not know,” Herbert countered, waving a finger at his father’s face. “His name...” He paused, his words slurring as he finished confidently, “I merely cannot remember it at this moment...”

“I have little doubt there is any of this evening you will remember,” von Krolock said with quiet disapproval, gazing down at his son. “I do not think you even sought that boy’s name.”

Swaying on his feet, Herbert threw his head back with drunken pride. “He still wanted me,” he announced. He tottered unsteadily, clutching the edge of the sarcophagus again. “I shall make them all want me!”

“Oh, Herbert...” Von Krolock caught his son’s arm gently, concern in his eyes. It was rare for Herbert to imbibe alcohol at all, preferring to keep his faculties, and even rarer for him to be under the thrall of liquor. “I have no doubt that many of them do already, but you need not do such a thing.”

Herbert squinted at him, trying to focus on his father’s face. “I think I may be a little intoxo... intoxa... I think I might be drunk, father,” he observed, then tried to reach down and pull up his trousers. He slipped and would have fallen if his father’s hands hadn’t caught him. A faint giggle escaped him. “So I look like he does, then...”

“He?”

With a dramatic gesture of one hand, Herbert straightened and promptly slipped, landing in his father’s arms. “That stupid Irish brute,” he said, clutching at the front of his father’s shirt. A finger jabbed at the Graf’s chest. “He is _always_ drunk, you know... always...”

“I expect so, Kleines,” von Krolock murmured, sinking to sit at the base of his son’s sarcophagus, gently arranging Herbert in his arms. Herbert’s head rocked against his shoulder and he could see stains of wine on the pale shirt. “Did William not find you? He sought you...”

The burst of laughter was so sharp, so violent that Herbert jerked in his arms. “Oh, he found me, yes... we read again,” he said, reaching up to tug at his father’s cravat, straightening it as best he could. “And talked. And talked and laughed and read. Then he scurried off...” Flapping a hand, he almost caught his father across the face, and von Krolock gently captured his son’s flailing hand. “Back to the silly one who made him.”

“Drusilla is his Sire, Kleines,” he murmured, watching his son’s face.

“She doesn’t love him, Vati!” Herbert exclaimed, his drink-fogged eyes glittering with manic passion. “I tell you she doesn’t! He’s a toy! She doesn’t love him at all! None of them do!” His hand jerked against his father’s grip. “And he still runs back to them...” His lips shivering, he pouted. “Away from me...”

Von Krolock felt as if a candle had been lit in a darkened room, illuminating him so suddenly. “Oh, Herbert...”

Herbert’s lower lip quivered. “Why can I not keep him, Vati?” he whispered. “Why does he not see?”

“Sometimes, we do not see what is standing before us, Kleines,” von Krolock said gently. “William admires you so, Herbert, but he is blinded by his love for Drusilla. It is she who holds his heart.”

“But she doesn’t love him,” Herbert repeated plaintively.

“I know, mein Schatz,” von Krolock said, stroking his son’s cheek with one fingertip. “But he is hers, by blood and by the ties of his heart. Sometime, those are the hardest to sever.”

Herbert made a face. “It is not fair,” he grumbled. “Why can I not take him? I want him here. He looks so pretty in the library and she would not care anyway.”

“And have him resent you for the rest of his life?” Von Krolock shook his head. “It will destroy him to lose her and I know you could not allow that.” Herbert pressed his lips together, sniffling pitifully. “Would you have him sent hence, Kleines? If you wish it, then it can be so.”

For several minutes, Herbert toyed with the ruffles of his father’s cravat, then shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Let him come again.” A wan smile touched his pale lips. “I can still have him when he is here, Vati.”

“It may only cause this desire to linger, Kleines...”

Herbert shook his head determinedly. “I won’t let it,” he said, tugging his father’s cravat between fingers made clumsy by drink. A finger prodded von Krolock’s shining tie-pin. “You shall see, Vati...” He smiled drowsily. “I shall make him mine when he is here. He will look pretty in chains. Chains and ropes...” Smacking his lips noisily, he yawned widely, then turned a vague smile to his father that reminded von Krolock of the first time he had seen his child unfortunately intoxicated. “Wine is terribly nice, Vati...”

“And I suspect you shall feel the less pleasant effects tomorrow, Kleines,” von Krolock sighed as his son nestled against him. As easily as he had when Herbert had been a child, von Krolock scooped his son up in his arms, lifting him into his ready-open sarcophagus.

Laid comfortably, Herbert lifted a hand to his mouth, blowing an exaggerated kiss at his father as von Krolock drew the lid closed over him.

Letting his hand rest on the stone of the sarcophagus lid, he allowed himself a faint, tired sigh. “Oh, Herbert,” he murmured. “What are we to do with you?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

All in all, the ball had been uneventful by comparison to their entrance. At least, almost as uneventful, though William was rapidly learning that the Graf and his son had a peculiar way of taking charge as and when they wished.

After the hours he’d spent talking with Herbert, he had been his Sire’s constant companion, though every time he saw Herbert, there was an enigmatic grin on the elder vampire’s lips that made him think of the night of their arrival.

Though he had vowed that encounter would be the last, every time he saw that smile, it led to thoughts of the chains which he had struggled uselessly against, of Herbert’s mouth doing things that were utterly sinful, of releases so powerful that his knees shook at the memory.

And Herbert had clearly expected that response, even taking advantage of it and approaching William in public on the final night of the winter celebrations. That made colour rise in William’s cheeks. Even now, used to vampire society being what it was, he blushed at the thought.

He had been sitting in the sidelines of the ballroom, watching Drusilla dance with a large but graceful male, when an arm had slid around his waist and a hand had closed over his mouth, stifling his protest.

And in the shadows, there in plain sight but utterly unnoticed, he had been drawn so close to his climax by the low wandering hand, the teasing lips and the purr of a whisper like silk on his senses.

When a suggestion had been murmured, his resistance had been torn apart.

In moments, he had been lured from the room and pressed up against the rough wall in the hall outside of the ballroom. Arching his back and moaning like a wanton strumpet, Herbert had kissed every sound that ebbed from his lips, stifling his cries and making him moan in soft, desperate longing.

And that was where he had been found, sagged against the wall, panting, exhausted and barely able to obey Darla’s command to get to his feet.

Swaying where he stood, he refastened his trousers with fumbling fingers, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. Drusilla giggled, murmuring things about pillars of salt and looking back, which made him scowl. And blush like a virgin.

Damn it.

That was the trouble with loving her so much; when you knew how to translate what she was saying and it meant she knew exactly what had been happening, what was a man to do but turn scarlet and mumble?

Rapping her fan against her palm, Darla looked around impatiently. “Where is he now?” she demanded of no one in particular.

Busy tucking his shirt in and hastily tying his cravat for some semblance of dignity, William didn’t notice the approach of their host’s son. “If you are seeking Angelus,” he said, making William jump in surprise. “He awaits you in your carriage.”

How was it, William wondered, that the vampire could look so neat, respectable and not at all like he’d just ravished William’s not-entirely-unwilling body against the very wall that was presently doing a sterling job of holding William upright?

Even smelled like he had taken the time to have a quick bath and change into fresh clothing. Not even bothered with fancy perfumes or anything. Just his own natural scent. Not that William noticed that. Not at all.

With a furious growl, he forced himself to stand upright, feigning indifference to the gaping collar of his shirt and the still loose cravat. Behave like a man. That was the better way to go.

Of course, he foolishly then chanced a glance at Herbert, intent on showing how annoyed he was. His plan went utterly to pieces there and then.

Dipping his chin just enough, that smile on his lips, Herbert’s eyes were slivers of polished silver beneath the gold threads of his lashes. One hand was toying with his cravat and he raised his brows.

“Said he would give them his daughters, not his guests,” Drusilla sing-songed, making William realise he was staring a bit too hard. He coughed, looking away. “But guests are better. Daughters cry to mama, little lambs, lost and weeping...”

With a noisy sigh, Darla snapped her fan closed against her palm. “If you would stop gaping like a stunned rabbit and finish fastening your pants,” she said irritably. “The coach is waiting.”

Forcing himself to glare at Herbert, William resolutely stormed past him, clutching the belt of his trousers, ignoring - completely and utterly - the way Herbert waved his fingers at him. Especially ignoring the way the wicked smile gave way to a grin.

Stalking out the door and stamping emphatically down the stone steps towards the carriage, his scowl gave way to a wide-eyed stare when he pulled the door open. Inside, Angelus was waiting. He was also trussed up with cords and was bleeding from one nostril, his face swollen and bruised.

“What the...”

Pushed aside by Darla, William saw her eyes flash gold at the sight of him. “What did you do this time?” she hissed, reaching into the carriage and tearing away the strip of cloth that was serving as a gag.

“That bastard broke his word,” Angelus snarled. His head jerked sideways when she struck him in a vicious backhand, then growled at her.

“You did _something_ ,” Darla’s growl matched his, her eyes blazing.

“If I did,” Angelus snapped. “Then I don’t know what it was and he didn’t tell me.”

Knowing the argument could go on for a bit, William took the time to quickly fasten up his trousers. Drusilla was weaving her way down the staircase, painting patterns in the air with her fingertips.

Idly, as he fastened his belt, William wondered who would have the nerve to take on Angelus, and as light dawned, he saw the guilty party silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by torches.

Inclining his head, Herbert smiled. Not the usual broad grin, but a genuine little smile. He lifted his hand to his throat, curling his fingers around his neck, then nodded towards the carriage and William understood.

Despite himself, he felt a grin creep onto his lips.

With an elegant gentleman’s bow, Herbert turned and walked back into the castle, leaving William staring after him, wondering what he’d done that meant Herbert was so ready and willing to give Angelus another pasting on his behalf.

Inside the carriage, it sounded like Darla was rivalling whatever had been done to her Irish plaything. When she snarled at them to get in, William looked around at Drusilla, who was watching the stars.

“Ready to go, love?” he asked, offering her a hand.

Her gloved fingers slid into his and she looked at him, a mischievous glint in her grey-blue eyes. “Two pillars of salt,” she whispered, leaning close until her lips almost brushed his. “Splashing all over, sweet Willy...”

He felt the colour edging up his face again. “You’re not going to let me forget it, are you love?” he inquired, as he helped her up into the carriage, ignoring the wounded yelp from Angelus.

Apparently, whatever Darla had done meant he was now curled in a tight knot on the floor of the carriage, not speaking and definitely not moving. On one of the seats, Darla was slapping her closed fan rapidly against her palm, glaring at the grounds with a viciousness usually only reserved for hunters.

A kiss touched William’s lips, distracting him from the elders. “Now I know why my Willy won’t dance with me,” she said, her teeth flashing by the moonlight then patted the seat beside her. “Playing on his whistle, isn’t it, my darling?”

“Love, if you want me to dance, you only have to ask,” he promised, slipping onto the seat and clasping her hands.

Looking up at the roof of the carriage as if she could see the sky beyond, Drusilla frowned thoughtfully. “Not time yet,” she murmured. “You have to learn all the steps before you can dance to a different tune.”

“Next year, then...”

Those beautiful feline eyes returned to his, and she smiled and kissed him lightly again. “I won’t need to ask, sweet Willy,” she whispered. “Someone else will and you will know.”

Lifting a hand to press his palm to her brow, William gazed at her adoringly. “You, love, are mad as a hatter,” he murmured. She pouted at him and he kissed the pout. “But I love you for it.”

As the carriage creaked and rattled, starting to move, Drusilla touched his cheek with a fingertip. “You’re not his wife,” she murmured. “You can look.”

And despite himself, William glanced out of the window. Framed in one of the tall windows that lined the ballroom, he saw a golden-haired figure clad in blue and he was almost sure he saw a hand raised in fare well.

His own hand rose in response, then dropped into the darkness of the carriage.

“Well,” he said, turning a jovial smile on his elders. “Wasn’t that fun?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The number of guests had diminished, less than a dozen remaining.

Herbert had taken advantage of the open ballroom at once.

To the tune of a single violin, he was twirling a pretty young boy in his arms. It took von Krolock less than a moment to recognise the boy as the youth Herbert had been involved with three nights earlier.

Though he had been subtle in his observation, he had watched Herbert watching William throughout the ball, until they had slipped from the room. He had not needed to ask why, nor had he needed to say anything when Herbert had sauntered back into the hall after seeing their guests off.

His son had been smiling, and in a way that suggested he had a plot in motion. The Graf had seen that devious, thoughtful expression on his son’s face more times than he cared to recollect, and every time he saw it, Herbert had succeeded in getting precisely what he wanted.

He had watched Herbert approach one of the windows, seen him raise a hand in salutation, and when his son returned to the dance floor, there was a notable bounce in his step.

As Herbert twirled the young man, by the name of Pyotr if Herbert’s exuberant exclamations were anything to judge upon, into his arms and kissed him, he laughed and von Krolock smiled.


	3. Per Ipsum, et Cum Ipso, et In Ipso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the title: "Through him, and with him and in him"

The Ball of 1885

He had seen it. Not in detail, not clearly, but in the curve of Angelus’ lips, in the glare on his son’s face, in the way Sarah had stalked across the ballroom and struck the dark Irish vampire.

There had been a stunned silence in the wake of her assault, which had left Angelus sprawled at her feet, bleeding from the mouth, but still grinning.

Discreetly, Herbert had moved closer to his father, standing several paces shy of him, spoken softly, and he had understood, known at once what was being wordlessly asked of him.

Drawing tendrils of shadows around him, he had merged into them, vanishing from the bustling hall and stepping from them into the dimly lit room of the youngest of their small family.

It looked empty, cosy by the glow of the fire in the hearth.

Only when he looked closer, looked with more than mere sight, did he see the small figure curled in the corner by the fireplace, hidden in the darkest nook of the room, arms wrapped around upraised knees.

“Alfred.”

Dark eyes flicked up to stare warily at him, barely visible between the tangled curls that clung to his brow. “I-I want to be left alone,” the boy whispered, his body folding in more tightly on itself.

Even from half a dozen paces, the Graf could smell the bitter combination of blood and tears unwillingly shed. With the subtle curl of his fingers, he murmured, “Come here.”

Shaking his head stiffly, Alfred buried his face in his arms.

“Alfred.” Softening his words to mask the anger boiling in him at the sight of the child so shaken, he moved slowly closer. “I intend you no harm.” He saw the boy tremble, his voice more than a mere aural tool. “Come to me.”

With reluctance, the young one unfolded from his corner, stepping into the puddle of warm light that spread from the fireplace. His arms wrapped around his body, and he stared down at the floor, shivering.

Closing the distance between them, von Krolock lifted his hand and brushed the knuckle of his forefinger against the boy’s cheekbone, saw him shudder, saw the way he tried to restrain himself from shying away.

“What did he do, Alfred?” The Graf’s voice was soft, gentle, encouraging.

The boy trembled again and von Krolock felt his other hand clench at the sight of a shining tear slipping down his pale face. Slowly, Alfred lifted his hand to the high collar of his shirt and hesitantly drew it down.

Marked there, deep and raw, the savage mark of Angelus’ fangs was clear.

Von Krolock’s body shook with the force of his rage, the low snarl making Alfred shy back, lowering his eyes.

“I told him not to,” he whispered. “I told him he should not... but he was so much stronger than I...” The twin of his first tear marked a silvery path down his other cheek. “I am sorry, Excellency...”

Pushing down the anger, forcing it aside, von Krolock swept forward, cradling the young vampire’s face in his hands gently. “It is not your apology to make, Alfred,” he said softly, seriously.

Truly, Angelus had struck with perfect precision when he had taken his revenge for his humiliation at Herbert’s hands, only a few years earlier.

Openly claimed only by his creator and first, favoured lover, Alfred’s inexperience, youth and lingering humanity had left him a target for the dominant, arrogant force of Angelus’ character. His position as the youngest of von Krolock’s family had made the viciousness of this assault all the more pointed.

Blinking, tears splashing silently onto his pale cheeks, Alfred’s lips appeared to tremble against the impulse to argue, his arms folding tightly over his chest.

Drawing the youngster to him, his long fingers cradling the back of Alfred’s skull tenderly, he lifted the boy’s chin with his other hand, making him look up, seeking those frightened brown eyes with his own.

Within them, von Krolock touched upon the boy’s memory, sifted through his emotions; the guilt and shame of being claimed by one such as Angelus, the fear and the pain of the darker vampire’s attack, the misery that he had never been and would now never be quite good enough to be claimed by the people he cared the most for.

“Oh, Alfred,” von Krolock whispered. “You need not have feared so.”

With a touch of two fingers, he tilted the boy’s head, then stooped and gently laid his fangs against Alfred’s throat. Overlaying the brutal bite there, they cut through the pale skin with a gentleness that was likely the opposite of Angelus’ assault.

Alfred uttered the faintest of sounds, his hands springing to clutch at the Graf’s shirt, and crumpled against him, his body shuddering with silent sobs of relief, of pain, of every emotion that had wracked his slender little body.

Withdrawing his fangs, von Krolock brushed a kiss over the wound.

“Never doubt, Alfred,” he said, his voice a low growl. “That you are ours. None can claim you, but us.”

Alfred nodded wordlessly, still trembling like a leaf, his forehead pressing to the Graf’s shoulder, his fingers still clutching at von Krolock’s shirt like a child would when woken from a nightmare.

Letting his cheek rest against the boy’s dark hair, von Krolock closed his eyes for a long moment.

“I think,” he said quietly. “That you should be presented, kleines. Tonight.” He felt the boy stiffen with fear. “Oh, you need not be afraid, Alfred.” Smiling slowly, darkly, against Alfred’s dark curls, von Krolock’s eyes gleamed. “He shall not touch you.”

 

____________________________

 

Glaring at the bottle in his hand, William turned it upside down and not even one miserable drop of wine came out. Didn’t the bastards know they were meant to drink blood and not all the wine? How the hell was he meant to get drunk... well, drunker, if he couldn’t find a bottle with wine in it?

Of course, it had been more than half-full when he had nicked it off the table and retreated up to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, but some other git had taken the other not-quite-half, leaving him more sober than he wanted to be.

Bloody Angelus and his bloody gestures.

Tossing the bottle aside, William grimaced as it rolled to the lip of the staircase and plummeted out of sight, clattering resoundingly on the stone stairs. Stupid sodding thing. Wouldn’t do to have someone noticing that he’d sloped off upstairs, away from the do, away from Angelus.

If they did notice, there would be questions and he wasn’t in the mood to answer.

Propping himself against the balcony, he scowled at nothing in particular, idly thinking of sticking a spike in Angelus’ thick head. Would it even be possible? Could it get through the sawdust that took up the place of his brain? Ha! Not bloody likely.

Sick bugger knew what he was doing, all right.

Last time William had visited, Herbert had been smitten with the young vampire, that Alfred. Time before that, the last Angelus had bothered to show up, Herbert had kicked his arse from one end of the castle to the other.

Best way to get back at someone who can beat you was to take out someone close to them, make them hurt in ways you know’ll get to the ones who hurt you, and Angelus had done it on every level.

First, Alfred had been reduced to shaking and begging when physical strength had not been enough, and even then, Angelus had just laughed, stroked his hair and told him not to make such a fuss.

Second, William knew, was himself. He’d been the one to see the pain and crazed grief in the boy’s eyes when Angelus had bitten him. Should have enjoyed it, but the boy had sobbed out and William had looked away, hadn’t tried to help. Didn’t want Angelus any more angry at him, but he’d known what that must’ve felt like, bitten by the bloody great big bastard instead of one of his own family.

And William had been halfway up the stairs when Sarah and Herbert had come into the ballroom. The look on Herbert’s face had been enough to make him hurry up to the balcony, out of sight, out of mind and out of the way.

Peeking between the railings, he had seen the girl smack Angelus in the face, saw the Graf disappear without show, and watched Herbert standing in his father’s stead, face as cold and hard as ice, arms folded over his chest.

And that was when he had clung to the bottle he had filched off one of the tables and ducked down behind one of the columns, settling down for an evening in the company of Bacchus.

Of course, that plan had been completely bollocksed now, thanks to those pillocks downstairs and their tendency to drink the wrong stuff.

So, an evening of hiding it was, then.

He was trying to examine the texture of his shirt when he became aware of a hush downstairs and shuffled sideways on his backside to risk a peek between the columns of the carved parapet.

Looked like the big chief was back.

His cheek pressing against sharp stone, he could see the Graf motion for Herbert to move aside and then he brought someone else along side him, like he’d pulled a veil off a figure hidden there.

William felt the hysterical giggle bubbling up in his throat almost at once.

Little bugger had been claimed!

Standing by the Graf’s side, so much smaller and so fragile-looking, Alfred was licking his lips nervously, twisting his hands together in front of him. He physically jumped as Herbert moved to his other side, laying a hand on his shoulder, giving the attendees of the ball a cool look, as if to challenge anyone who dared approach the youngest of their family.

Muttering something under his breath, William glowered down at them. Made it so easy, didn’t they? Just like that. All the troubles gone, just because the Graf said so. Alfred wasn’t in any trouble. Herbert was happy as could be and...

Oh.

Oh bugger.

Shifting, pressing hard against the stone, ignoring it scraping against his cheeks, peering down over the crowded ballroom, he could see the direction the Graf was moving in as the crowd parted before him. Could see the silver hair, the trailing cloak, could see trepidation, then relief on the pale faces he passed.

A quick glance told William that Sarah had joined Herbert, and he felt something he really didn’t want to think too much about as he saw them both lean closer to the young vampire, then pull back, lips bloodied.

Forcing his attention back to the Graf, he bit his lip as von Krolock approached Darla, Drusilla and the seated Angelus.

Angelus started to rise, but a casual gesture from the Graf threw him back down with a violence that flung him and his chair against the wall. The hand that had made the gesture beckoned Darla, who rose as if pulled on strings, her eyes wide.

Whatever was being said, it was being said quietly, politely.

Then, William knew he wasn’t the only one to exclaim in shocked surprise as the blonde she-vampire was caught around the waist, pulled hard against the Graf’s body and bitten savagely. Not just a gentle bite, that. Not something that could be passed off as friendly, or even just a gesture.

That was a true marking, binding, permanent, unbreakable.

She was his, to do with what he wanted, and that went for everyone that was tied to her as well.

Oh buggering hell.

William felt the skin on his palms splitting open against the carved stone, knew that if he had a heartbeat it would be racing. His teeth cut into his lip and he wanted to back off, run for it while he still could, but couldn’t make himself move.

Somehow, whatever charm had been holding Angelus down was broken and the dark vampire roared in ire, charging at the Graf. The Graf dropped Darla like a ragdoll, leaving her spilled on the floor at his feet, and casually side-stepped Angelus’ attack.

Maybe it was magic or maybe the Graf was just quicker, but Angelus staggered, his momentum casting him off-balance, and turned, eyes flashing gold.

“All tricks, is it?”

Lifting one elegant hand, the Graf unpinned his cloak and it fluttered to the floor like wings. Inclining his head, Darla’s blood still staining his lips, he smiled slightly, but it was the smile of a tiger. “No tricks, Angelus,” he said softly, spreading his palms.

On the balcony, William winced. “No, no, no, you pillock...” he whispered, his hands trembling against the stone. “Don’t...”

His words unheard, Angelus lashed out again.

As smoothly as ever, the Graf’s hands moved, blocking the blow with the ease of a man swatting away a fly. The second punch was caught and Angelus was sent reeling, crashing into several guests, who cried out and pushed him back into the widening square on the floor.

Circling the Graf, who was standing calmly with hands hanging loosely by his sides, Angelus launched himself into an attack with no holds barred. It could never be said that Angelus was a weak fighter.

However, it seemed that he had met his master in the Graf.

Not a single blow of Angelus touched the older vampire.

With a swiftness that surpassed Herbert’s, the Graf stepped out of range of blows, his silver hair sweeping behind him like the tail of a comet, reaching beneath Angelus’ strikes to place strategic blows, sending the Irish vampire staggering.

Guests were gasping and crying out approval with each attack, but against the edge of the parapet, William had never felt so petrified.

When the Graf swept into what looked like a low bow and sliced Angelus’ legs out from beneath him with one arm, William cursed under his breath. Angelus seemed to fall in slow motion, landing heavily on the floor at the Graf’s feet.

“He deserves every instant.”

William whipped around with a gasp, scrambling back across the smooth floor only to collide with one of the columns.

Less than half a dozen paces from him, Herbert was squatted down by the parapet, gazing through one of the engraved openings, his hand braced against the balustrade, but his face was expressionless, his grey eyes so cold.

Pressing against the smooth, curved stone, William felt like something was knotting up inside him, his hands pressing against the floor as he tried in vain to force his body into the stone.

“H-Herbert...”

Slowly, Herbert looked at him, no kindness or softness in his face. “I hear you have done something foolish, William,” he said quietly.

Unable to answer, William nodded, lowering his eyes. He could see the bloody smears his cut palms were leaving on the pale stone of the floor and hastily lifted his hands to rest in his lap. Didn’t want to make them any more angry.

A finger curled, beckoning him, gesturing for him to look down on the ballroom.

“Look, William,” Herbert said quietly. “See what becomes of those who assault our kin and blood.”

Tentatively, William crept back to the spot he had been kneeling at. He was trembling, but he didn’t dare to disobey. Rising on his knees, he pressed his hands against the edge of the rail, peering between the gaps, and his eyes went round.

In the centre of the ballroom, throughout which silence reigned, the Graf had apparently tired of toying with Angelus. With his right hand upraised, he held the dark vampire several feet off the floor, his fingers contracting around Angelus’ throat.

“You are no longer welcome here.” Though the Graf spoke quietly and calmly, his voice rolled off every wall, echoing back in a dangerous whisper. “After this night, your presence will never be welcome in these lands again.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “If you dare to return, I see that you will suffer for it.”

William felt the whimper rise in his throat, then gasped when an arm slipped around his waist and Herbert’s hand covered one of his. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t reassuring, nothing more than a possessive hold, stilling him, capturing him.

“Hush,” Herbert whispered against his ear, his voice emotionless, quiet. His tongue lapped casually at the blood on William’s scraped cheeks, but - for the first time - the touch didn’t make William feel any better. “Watch, dear William.”

“Your Excellency...” Darla’s weak voice broke in. William could just make her out, sprawled on the floor where she had been cast, looking shaken, blood still streaking her pale throat.

“Be silent,” the Graf murmured without so much as a look in her direction. Her eyes dropped and William saw her flinch. Looking beyond her, he felt his body tense at the sight of Dru, his dark Princess, kneeling and rocking. She was wailing softly, hands pressed against her temples.

Struggling against Herbert, he tried to rise, anxiety rife on his face. “Dru...”

Herbert’s arm locked around his waist. “Stay,” he commanded softly. “She will not be harmed. The sin was not hers.” Lips brushed his cheek, then his ear. “Do you know to whom the sin belongs, William?”

Nodding tightly, William felt his fingers bite into the edge of the marble parapet. He felt his nails crack, his eyes squeezing closed.

“Shouldn’t have let him do that to your boy,” he whispered, tilting his head to look back at the elder vampire. “Didn’t know that’s what he was up to, I swear...” Grey eyes gazed at him so gravely that he trembled. The thought of Herbert, the laughing, wicked, charming Herbert despising him for his bloody weakness made him feel sick. “Herbert...”

Herbert’s eyes flicked from his face back to the scene below them. William haltingly looked around. The Graf was still holding Angelus, but he had lowered him back to the floor and despite Angelus’ frantic clawing at his wrists, he did not release him.

Black eyes were gazing down coldly at him, and Angelus seemed to freeze. The Graf’s hands peeled away from his throat and, as if in a trance, Angelus stood, rooted to the spot, staring dazedly at him.

With casual fingers, the Graf tweaked aside Angelus’ collar, baring his throat. A whisper ran around the hall.

On the balcony, beneath Herbert’s hand, William’s hand trembled. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Angelus was going to be furious about getting taken down and then claimed as well.

Von Krolock lowered his head, so close to the Irish vampire, his silver hair brushing the velvet of Angelus’ ludicrously decorated coat. Even from the balcony, William could see the rage and touches of fear in Angelus’ eyes at this travesty, at the fact he couldn’t fight against it.

The Graf hesitated, then slowly shook his head and stepped back, his upper lip curling with distaste. With a gesture from one of his elegant hands, Angelus buckled to his knees, bleeding from nose and mouth.

If that wasn’t insult enough, the Graf turned his back on the fallen vampire.

William felt a terrified giggle bubbling up in his throat.

Oh bugger.

They’d be feeling Angelus’ anger about this for months, he just knew it.

He was drawing rapid breaths, petrified beyond the telling, as the Graf approached Drusilla, gazing down at her. Oh, if he hurt her, if he did anything to make her hurt like Angelus was...

Elegant hands were offered to the insane vampire, who stared up at him, then let him draw her upright, the deep plum silk of her dress spilling around her slim body.

“Snap and bite,” she whispered, the echoes rippling back around them, her eyes wide and wondering. “Touch not the fruit of the tree of knowledge or be tossed from the garden with the snakes and the swords.”

Cradling her hands with such infinite gentleness in one of his, the Graf’s other hand rose, his knuckles brushing against her pale cheek. “The sins of the father shall not be the sins of the child,” he said softly.

Behind him, Angelus was struggling to rise and cursed loudly.

The Graf’s head tilted slightly and through the veil of his silver hair, his eyes flashed with malevolence. Instantly, Angelus was forced face-down on the floor, as if an invisible hand has crushed him.

Drusilla seemed oblivious, gazing raptly up at the Graf. “Shall we have cake again?”

Lifting one of her hands to his lips, he smiled as he kissed her knuckles. “As often as you wish, my dear,” he murmured, drawing her closer to him. “And I would not have you come alone, for such a thing is unfitting for a lady.”

As often as she wished?

William swayed on his knees, his eyes closing with relief. To not be allowed to come back, to be denied access to this place, to these people, to be shut out... he didn’t realise how much of a hurt that would be, until the threat of the possibility had risen in front of him.

Drusilla beamed at him. “Guinevere and Lancelot it shall be, then,” she said happily. “Arthur and Morgana will be amiss.”

The Graf smiled, smoothing his hand down her spine. “As you wish, my Lady.”

Without warning, the music - which had fallen silent - began afresh and, as if nothing had ever been amiss, he led her into a waltz, leaving both Angelus and Darla to be bundled from the floor like refuse by younger lackeys.

Against his ear, William heard the gentle whisper, “You see, William. Father is not a fool.” The hand that had been clasped over his now loosened, moving lightly on his skin. “If Angelus believed he could claim dominion over anyone he chose...”

“He... he’s still my sire’s sire...” William whispered, shivering as that hand drew up his arm, no longer threatening, a tender caress. Couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t forget that he’d been claimed after challenging Angelus for Dru, after being beaten down, thrashed into submission by a vampire a century and a half his senior and nearly half again his size.

“And his Sire now belongs to my father,” Herbert murmured against his jaw. “And so, he and any that he has claimed also do.”

William bit his lip, shivering. Couldn’t be that easy. “Doesn’t count,” he whispered faintly, his eyes squeezing closed as the hand at his waist slipped beneath his coat and his shirt, caressing his chest.

Abruptly, Herbert’s body was gone from behind him, but before he could protest, he was flung onto his back on the patterned marble of the floor, making him gasp out as air was forced from his lungs.

Leaning over the sprawled vampire, his body pressing against William’s, Herbert’s eyes gleamed and his lips curled as he caught William’s wrists, pinning them by his sides. “Let us make it count then, cheri,” he murmured, then his mouth claimed William’s, hard, fiercely and forcefully.

Should have protested a bit more, he realised vaguely. Didn’t manage it around the groans as Herbert’s mouth did things to his body that no man should ever be able to do to another. When Herbert paused, he started, shocked at the sudden loss, only for a silken cravat to be shoved in his mouth.

“Do shut up, William,” Herbert said sweetly and kissed the tip of his nose.

Should have protested that too, but then Herbert’s mouth closed around his prick and his eyes rolled and he moaned around the pale cloth. Quite when his trousers went missing, he didn’t know or care.

Got so close, as tongue and teeth and those damned lips made him squirm, then Herbert was leaning over him again. William had never been more aware of every point of contact, hands on his wrists, prick to prick, chest to chest and then, lips brushed his. Herbert’s eyes glittered and, catching the end of the cravat with his teeth, he pulled it free, tossing it aside, then kissed William ferociously.

Squinting dazedly when Herbert draw back, William became aware that his hands were pinned to the floor over his head by one of Herbert’s and that the other hand was sliding against his hip, wordlessly nudging him.

“Herbert...” It was part-groan, part-whimper.

A golden brow arched. “You want me to stop?” Herbert murmured, his hand slipping to stroke William’s prick.

Even if he had, which he really, really hadn’t, that wasn’t an option anymore.

His body was arching, demanding more, and he felt Herbert shift against him, his hips lifting, body quivering with want. A muffled moan slipped between his lips as Herbert’s body claimed his, his feet pressing against the smooth floor.

Least Angelus hadn’t claimed him this way, his mind gabbled, giddy with pleasant sensation.

He felt Herbert’s lips on his, felt the nip of fangs, tasted blood, perhaps his, perhaps Herbert’s, felt the deepening press within him, his eyes rolling, his fingers tensing and grasping at the air.

Arching up desperately against Herbert’s body, he almost whined when that errant hand moved away from his throbbing cock, leaving him teetering, making him moan out an expletive, his head thrown back.

Accepting the unspoken invitation, Herbert kissed his bared throat. “Tell him of your shame,” he whispered. “Tell him how you fought... how you protested...” His tongue traced William’s jugular. “Tell him you had no choice...”

“Wh-wha?” William gasped, glassily staring at the ceiling.

Cool fingers tilted his head to one side and a palm covered his lips.

“This,” Herbert breathed.

Then his fangs sank into William’s throat and fireworks went off behind William’s wide eyes, his body going into convulsions of pleasure, his cry smothered by the hand sealed over his mouth.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks later when he could finally open his eyes, could finally focus, could try to think, could feel the sensual draw of his blood being tasted, desired, claimed.

Panting, he realised his hands were free, and they tremblingly touched the golden hair of the vampire still gently, tenderly lapping at his throat.

“H-Herbert...?”

“Mmm?”

“I... er...” His mouth was smiling. If it hadn’t been hidden in the pale gold spill of Herbert’s hair, it might have looked idiotic, dopey, but it was hidden and it wouldn’t stop smiling.

He felt the chuckle, his belly clenching delightfully as Herbert’s mouth sealed over the wounds again, drew more from him, making parts of him that he had never been aware with thrum with pleasure and astonishment.

Finally withdrawing lips and fangs, raising himself, hands braced upon either side of William’s head, Herbert gazed down at him. “Does that count?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

William tried to stop himself grinning. “S’pose so,” he murmured, one hand toying with a loose strand of Herbert’s hair.

For that response, he received a brief kiss, then Herbert was watching him again.

“We should return to the ball,” Herbert finally said quietly, though he didn’t pull back at once. “Drusilla will require your presence.”

The faint smile faltered and William nodded. “Yeah... still got my family to think about, haven’t I?” he said, though he let himself be kissed again and drawn upright, Herbert kneeling between his thighs. “Couldn’t leave Dru with them. Not now.”

After all, she was still favoured by the Graf, and Angelus was nothing if not a touchy bastard with a ready fist.

Herbert’s fingertips touched his bloody throat, and the older vampire smiled slightly. “Darling, you know that as one claimed by blood, you have rank over Angelus,” he said, grey eyes meeting blue.

“You... you what?”

The vampire smiled slowly, wickedly. “As the one who claimed you, I can instruct you, cheri,” he said, leaning forward to kiss William’s lips lightly. “Though I ask that you feign despair at this... encounter, I would be most aggrieved to learn that you did not use it to make Angelus’ life a misery.”

The delighted revelation shone in William’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be claimed, but don’t have to listen to him anymore because of it kind of thing?”

Tilting William’s chin up with one curled finger, Herbert’s eyes gleamed. “That, my darling, is why you have been and he never will be,” he said fondly. “So clever, my dear little William.”

Despite himself, William grinned happily at the commendation.

“Now,” Herbert rose suddenly, pulling his fancy trousers back up. “Let us see if we can find your undergarments.”

 

__________________________________

 

Once his dance with Drusilla was done, von Krolock let her flit off like a delicate dark bird, a charming male enticing her to dance with him. Returning to his favoured position on the staircase, the Graf surveyed his domain through hooded eyes.

At the far end of the grand hall, notably close to the door, Angelus had been propped up by Darla, who was pressed to him. While to most the hand spread on his chest and her face close to his would have seemed affectionate, he could sense the black rage rising off her like steam.

Allowing one side of his mouth to rise slightly, he let his gaze drift onwards.

Naturally, he was the first to notice his son’s return, descending the staircase on the left side of the ballroom. As if it had never been there, Herbert’s ire of but an hour earlier had dissipated entirely, and he was smiling and laughing as jovially as ever.

His eyes lingering on his son, von Krolock arched a brow when Herbert chanced to look in his direction. Herbert smiled warmly, raising a hand to his chest and bowing his head with an air of gravitas that, upon any other night, would have seemed out of place. His eyes flicking towards the balcony, the Graf tilted his head slightly.

Lifting a hand to straighten and smooth his cravat, Herbert’s smile altered so subtly it would take one who knew him well to recognise the meaning. That same hand rose a little further and he dragged the end of his index finger against his lower lip, the tip of his tongue visible between a flash of white teeth, his eyes gleaming.

A movement from the staircase drew the Graf’s eyes and amused half-smile from his son and clearly, caught more attention than simply his.

Several dancers collided and others stopped dead, staring.

Halfway down the staircase, staggering, his face gashed and bloodied, his eyes wide and glassy, young William of the Order of Aurelius took faltering, careful steps down the broad staircase. He was clutching the banister as one would a lifeline and, even from halfway across the grand room, von Krolock could see him trembling.

He was several steps from the bottom when his legs buckled beneath him and he fell the rest of the way, spilling onto the floor as the guests drew back, a fresh silence of shock falling.

“My sweet?” Weaving her way through the crowd, Drusilla slipped to his side and knelt, drawing him onto his back, then pressing her fingertips to her mouth. “Little brands for everyone! One, two!”

The flurry of whispers, the swaying movement of the crowd trying to look closer, the sudden and wary looks exchanged...

Amid them, he saw the tawny head of William as Drusilla half-lead, half-carried her lover from the floor towards the elder of their Order. He was pleased to notice that even Angelus looked unsettled, even more now than before.

He glanced sideways as Herbert mounted the staircase and came to stand beside him, grey eyes examining the buttresses, as if utterly unaware of the attention that his little plaything had garnered.

Returning his gaze to the dancers, his cool expression clearly said enough and music began once more, dances resuming, though there was a palpable tension in the air that crackled like lightning.

“A little too much, I think,” he murmured, his arms folded beneath his cloak, though he did not look towards his son.

Herbert chuckled softly. “Oh, but you must admit that he swoons beautifully,” he replied. “How horrified does that Irish ruffian look?”

“Exceptionally.”

Leaning against the broad railing, Herbert lifted a hand and licked two fingertips, a thoughtful look on his face. “I wonder if that wretch realises that he gave us leave to do whatever we wished,” he mused.

Von Krolock looked at his son. “I trust you did not damage the boy.”

Innocence vied for place against smugness on Herbert’s features. “Oh, I had no complaints,” he replied sweetly. “And I could never do to William what that brute did to poor little Alfred.” He sighed heavily. “I fear I shall have to take him into my care and teach him, lest some other rogue tries the same thing.”

Von Krolock said nothing, though he let his eyes slip towards his son.

Grey eyes blinked at him innocuously. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I suppose now,” his father murmured, masking his amusement carefully. “Sarah will permit you to do whatever you will to protect him.”

“I suppose she will,” Herbert agreed with a cheerful lightness that belied the slow grin curving his lips. “In which case, I should probably be grateful to Angelus for forcing such a task upon me.”

Von Krolock chuckled softly. “Your ability to see the positive in every situation is admirable,” he murmured.

“I know,” Herbert said with a half-smile. He nodded towards the so recently tamed Order. “I have been blessed.” One hand touched his chest in a parody of crossing himself, his expression virtuous. “Per ipsum, et cum ipso...” His eyes drifted across the dancers to Alfred and his teeth flashed by the light of the chandeliers. “Et in ipso... oh, yes...”

Unable to stifle it, von Krolock laughed aloud.


End file.
